


Third Time's the Charm

by Not_So_Witty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_So_Witty/pseuds/Not_So_Witty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Spoilers for up to and including Season 3*</p>
<p>In which friendship grows into to something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Time's the Charm

Molly only visited John once after Sherlock 'died'. She had fled afterwards, unable to bear it. Unable to bear the awkward silences when John broke off mid-sentence to stare at Sherlock's vacant chair, or the her platitudes when he circled back, time and again, to those last hours or how Sherlock would solve the odd cases he had scoured the papers for. Unable to bear Mrs Hudson's suppressed sniffs and snivels as she brought them tea. Unable to bear the moustache that John seemed to have grown in some act of grief. She had fled the shell of a man and the apartment haunted by the ghost of a man that she alone knew was not actually dead and escaped to her morgue full of bodies that were most certainly dead.

When Greg visited the morgue, he told her of Johns ongoing decline and the day he brought news that he had started dating she was glad for him, if a little sorry for anyone who's the rebound from Sherlock. She had noticed that Greg has taken to visiting the morgue more often since Sherlock left. He seemed to need to see the human element of his job, as if he was only a few faceless cases away from not caring any more. She made sure she has fresh coffee brewing on days when she knew he wa's coming. She tried to think of ways to restore him in those few minutes when he's in her domain. The struggle of the divorce, the exhaustion of clinging onto his job when he was under investigation and his raw grief after Sherlock's demise were written in the creases and grey pallor of his face. Every time he left the morgue a little bit more relaxed when he entered, either with a bit of colour in his face, or his shoulders a little bit more relaxed, or rarest of all, with a smile playing about his mouth, she found a little triumph.

 

In the whirlwind of Sherlock's return his visits seemed to get shorter. His casual enquiries about Tom seemed forced and she was never sure why they called her own feelings about him into doubt. She loved her fiance, why wouldn't she, but she often felt her conviction of that love walk out the door with Greg, leaving her a befuddled mess. At John and Mary's wedding, their easy conversations and catch-ups were marred by his and Tom's undeniable frostiness towards each other. She watched, helpless as he drank more than he really should, undoubtedly remembering his own wedding day. He had stopped wearing his wedding ring about a month before Sherlock's return. At half 2 Tom found them in the smoking area, drained glasses of whiskey and the butt-ends of the cigarettes that Molly had given up years before in front of them, deep in conversation. Molly had a blanket wrapped round her and one hand on his arm as he told of his fears of the future and regrets of the past. Tom threw a massive tantrum, insisting they go home right then, couldn't see that she was just talking to a friend, insisted that she didn't really love him and that he was just someone she kept around because she didn't want to be a cat lady. Greg physically reeled when he spat hateful words at him, telling him he was a dirty old man and that Molly was hardly even his friend if she could have lied to him for two years about Sherlock. And that it wasn’t as if Molly had room for anyone in her life when she was still infatuated with that arrogant prick anyway.

 

The next day Molly had time to consider his words as she packed up his stuff and handed it back, with the engagement ring. Tom had been right about some things, she didn’t really love him. It had been nice to feel loved though, and she had been worried about turning 30 and still being single. Cats made good pets, she didn’t have the stability or space for a dog. But he couldn’t have been more wrong about others. She had been probing her feeling about Sherlock since his return, especially at the wedding while he and the bridesmaid had flirted outrageously with each other. All she found was embarrassment and regret that she had wasted so much of her time pining over him and feeling that she wasn’t good enough to be noticed by him. She had grown up a lot over the last few years, and being childishly besotted with men who would never think of her romantically was just one of the things that she grew out of. She shuddered to think of that Christmas night when she showed up to 221b dressed to the nines and he gave her that patronising kiss, as if that was his gift to her and the worst thing was that that’s how she took it. As him deigning to give her a dry peck on the cheek was the best gift he could give her. He had ground his heel into Greg’s feeling that night too, pointing out that Caroline was having another affair. Speaking of Greg, Tom had no idea what he was talking about there. He was no dirty old man. He wasn’t even that old and had never shown any of that kind of interest in her. They were just friends, they had been through so much together and he had been through so much these last few years that he sometimes needed someone to talk to. Sure, when he had wrapped the blanket around her he accidentally brushed the hollow of her collarbone and something inside had jumped and a shiver ran down her spine, but the heaters just hadn’t been enough to keep away the cold. The thought of those surprisingly gentle fingers running along other parts of her body had come unbidden but had been banished quickly. Greg was just a friend. And a friend fresh out of a messy divorce at that.

 

She visited Sherlock three times when John got married. The first time was shortly after the wedding and she was shocked to find John’s chair missing. She perched on the sofa and noticed his eyes drift to the darker spot on the carpet, the shadow of a missing man. Molly felt a surge of relief when Mrs Hooper brought up tea and Greg, who looked for a moment like he was interrupting something. She had barely seen him in the week that had passed since the wedding and as he positioned himself as far away from her as possible she began to understand why. When Sherlock wandered off, for the fourth time, to his bedroom, she stumbled out an apology for Tom’s words, for her sudden departure, for everything. He’s not a dirty old man, he’s not even old, she knows he doesn’t like her like that, couldn’t like her -

And then Sherlock came back in the room and chit chat resumed, but when he stood up to get a fresh cup of tea, he sat down closer to her and seemed comfortable again.

The second time was after the shooting. Greg texted her to see if she was heading over and if she wanted a lift. Despite John’s chair being back they both sat on the sofa and mostly talked to each other as Sherlock ignored them. Whether he in his mind palace or simply in a morphine haze, she wasn’t sure, but she felt much happier by the time Greg dropped her off at her front door.

The third time her and Greg headed over but the door was locked. They decided to go to a nearby cafe instead and have a drink, which turned into lunch and then a more alcoholic lunch. By nine o’clock all the party-goers were starting to take over the pub so they decided to get the tube back to hers. They were best of friends again and what was more natural than sharing a bottle of wine at your friends house?

As she changed into her pyjamas she remembered the way his fingers brushed her skin when he wrapped her up at the wedding. She was flushed when she re-entered the sitting room and for a moment was terrified that he had read her mind as his glance seemed to lengthen to a gaze at the same spot, laid bare by her vest top. But then the moment was broken as he held up the DVDs in his hands:

‘Beetlejuice or The Lion King - which will it be?’

As if to demonstrate his preference he grabbed her unsuspecting cat Toby, held him aloft and sing ‘The Circle of Life’ at full volume as she collapsed giggling on the sofa. It turned out that the Lion King was the first film he had ever brought his nephew to see at the cinema. It had become an annual tradition for them to watch it together while his niece demanded his attention and his jacket and to sit on his shoulders so she could pick his hair like monkeys do. But they had been Caroline’s niece and nephew really and now he rarely got to see them. His ex-sister-in-law tried to feed him tea and cake and pity while forgetting to hide the happy pictures of Caroline and John the gym instructor. Molly held his hand to comfort him for his loss of a family and it seemed natural to leave it there, entwined, as she refilled their glasses and tucked her feet under her. She braced herself and cried, as always, at Mufasa’s death and Greg wrapped his arm around her shuddering shoulders. The scene always freshened the pain of her fathers death from a dull ache that she barely noticed any more to a searing scar across her very being. Greg kissed her forehead and brought her in for a tighter hug. Nestled against his chest her sobs turned to smiles as he sang along to ‘Hakuna Matata’. They stayed like that for longer than either of them realised, but when he started absentmindedly drawing patterns on her bare arm her breath catches and she became very much aware of the nearness of him. He continued watching the film, unaware of the gamut of emotions he was subjecting her to.

 

Finally, he noticed the tension in her posture and glanced down at her. Struck anew by the beauty of her presence, he realised that he had been pretending to himself for the last few hours that this was his life. He hadn’t realised his true feelings for Molly until Tom had screamed them at him at the wedding. He was mortified that everyone else had seen them but him, that he was the laughing stock of the Yard by mooning about the morgue like a schoolboy. He had tried to avoid her after that, but the trips to see Sherlock had brought them back together again and she didn’t seem to despise him and he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to visit Sherlock just to see her. Now here they were and she must have realised the way he felt. He thought she was going to kick him out, but in her polite, inoffensive way. But he saw something else in her eyes and allowed himself, for just one second, to hope that she felt the same. Then she lifted her face a fraction to his and he was lost.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if I should return to this with a sequel. This is the first bit of creative writing I've done in around 7 or 8 years so I'm a little rusty and would love some feedback please. Any constructive criticism appreciated.


End file.
